B U R N
by Raven T
Summary: Join the Avengers as they forge bonds, fight, and survive as superheroes through the eyes of a British government experiment gone haywire, who's only wish is to be anything but what she is. Jennifer Harbinger, as the name implies, is the messenger of a new adventure, with a tough as dragon scales demeanor and fiery temper. How will the world shake through her harrowing tale?
1. The Ember

**Welcome all to another fanfic by yours truly, Raven T! I'm extremely and unabashedly proud of this, as the Avengers are a major obsession of mine, and I feel I've done my best in owning up to their characters while introducing a new one. **

**Yes, you've guessed it, I'm putting an OC in here. Before you run screaming, know that I've taken great consideration in adding complexity and a level of reality to her, so she's not some omniscient, all-powerful Mary Sue. Not that I'm dissing Mary Sue's, 'cause Lord knows we all need a dose of "I'M SUPER FANTASTICALLY AWESOME AND LOVED BY ALL!" in our lives some days. And can you blame people for making them? Like you've never written/thought of something along the same lines.**

**Ah, I'm driving down tangent land now. Digressing. I had some trouble coming up with, well, almost everything, but after a liberating jam-session with my headphones and Thousand Foot Krutch's latest album, "The End Is Where We Begin," I worked through my writing blockage and into a metaphorical gold mine. That sounded a little to **_**Minecraft **_**for me right now, as I'm currently battling my Xbox 360 addiction.**

**So, alas, my long intro comes to an end. In conclusion, my story is epic, has amazing plot, and a brand-new, non-Mary Sue/self-insert character that rocks peoples' socks off. Enjoy.**

**P.S. In the fight scene in the alley (Oh yea, be excited), the pace is supposed to be set to the tempo of Thousand Foot Krutch's song "War of Change" from the lyrics "…is it true what they say?" to "…come with me!" So, if you want a better understanding, you might wanna look it up. Just some advice. Plus, the song rocks. Like, literally, rocks fall from the ceiling. They hurt, but its so worth it. ;P**

**P.P.S Did you know "P.S." means "post script"? That would make this the post-post script. Ha ha. Goodness, I need a nap.**

**P.P.P.S. This is completely un-beta-ed, so all mistakes and literary mishaps are mine and mine alone. Then again, if my sentence articulation is to your liking, I can also claim it as mine and mine alone. So. Yea.**

**Disclaimer: …what, like you don't get it by now? Everyone on this site owns nothing except their ideas/concepts and their OC's. Seriously, even the name of the site explains this: "Fan" and "Fiction," pressed together into one word that, for some reason, never shows up when posted on said site and smushed together. Aw, the site's bashful. Tangent. Right. I DON'T OWN ANYTHING BESIDES MY IDEAS AND OC'S!**

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**B U R N**

_Raven T._

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Prologue:

(Year 2008)

The October night sky was adorned in glittering gems; the blackness devoured the heavens like spilled ink on pale parchment. The crescent moon above seemed to grin like the Cheshire cat, all teeth and mischief. Alley cats clambered through fallen trash cans, rummaging through foul smelling entrails and moldy bags. The crisp London air chilled bone. Hisses and screeching yowls of brawling felines echoed throughout the otherwise still night.

Leaning against a grime-coated, foul-smelling dumpster, a shadowed figure watched the slowly dying embers in a discarded cigarette by the mouth of the alleyway, faint smoke still curling in the pale moonlight. A scuffed boot toe ground it out on the unforgiving pavement.

Muffled laughter from too-happy drunks sounded round the corner. The figure swiveled quicker than light reflecting on a spun dime, head cocked like an animal. Shuffling footsteps and boisterously shushed giggles greeted hidden ears, and the mysterious figure fled past darkened nooks and shadowed crannies, willing itself to remain undiscovered.

Eyes black as night darted about, focusing on seemingly random objects. Booze dripping into a puddle by a dumpster from a cracked bottle; a battered, half-empty lighter sitting precariously on a windowsill; someone's laundry dipping low on a fraying wire; a fire escape with a busted ladder. Metal ridden ears picked up on the fact that two, near-silent vehicles were parked nearby, engine still running with a wild feline's purr.

A black cat dashed by, the figure's left foot crushing its tail. A baleful hiss and menacingly sharp paw swipe left the figure unfazed, still as a statue, ears straining in the silence. Two engines roared to life, tires screeching, destination evident. The feline raced away, leaving the figure cursing under its breath.

A black sedan swerved to a stop at the opening of the alleyway, another to the figure's back, blocking all exits. Backing up slightly, coal eyes searched fruitlessly for an exit before zeroing in on the four smartly dressed men exiting the sleek, government-issue vans. One of them walked further than the others, still a good twelve feet away from the stock-still, shadowed figure. Average height, unassuming brown hair and grey suit, bland looks; unnoticeable. His American accent was alien to the figure's ears, his voice flat and robotically unemotional in its deep bass.

"Ms. Harbinger, we'd like to have a word with you. Please enter the vehicle."

A chap-lipped smirk.

"Bullocks. If you wanted to 'ave a chat, we'd be sipping tea in a café somewhere. Not 'ere, in the middle of an alleyway, 'aving a Mexican standoff. Sorry, love, but I'm not buying it." Her voice caught in odd places, as if scratched by sandpaper.

The figure stepped into the moonlight, revealing a fatigued trench coat, worn combat boots, a soot smudged face, and stringy, brown hair laden with oil. The woman, for her feminine facial structure was obvious when well lit, had a definite British accent; a native. Though the crude twist to her lips faked playfulness, her eyes, hard as flint and sharp as daggers, were solemn.

The stony man's face held no emotion. "Ms. Harbinger, I assure you we're only here to talk. We have a proposition for you. One you'd be a fool to disregard."

Brows narrowed at the barb, but she otherwise ignored his words. Like ice cubes, they were, cold and unfeeling, but slid right off her back within a few uncomfortable moments. She focused on the other man, watched as his fingers twitched towards his gun.

The first suit-clad man spoke again, finally emoting a faint irritation from the wrinkle in his brow and the set of his lips. "I'm Jack Morrison, an agent with the United States government. The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, to be precise."

She stiffened, hands clenching. "You're a suit? And not even one from _my _government?"

He seemed to find amusement in her expression, whatever it was, but hid it behind a wall of ice. "Yes. We've recently taken to calling ourselves SHIELD."

She snorted crassly through her nose. "Yes, and I imagine you're partners with agencies 'SWORD' and 'MACE' as well."

Ignoring the snide comment, Morrison's voice remained patient. "And we need you, Jennifer Harbinger, to come with us. Now."

Eyeing the man, Morrison, with a disdainful glare, Jennifer surveyed the surroundings once again. Fisted hands loosened at her sides, and her stare bore figurative holes into Agent Morrison's person.

"And you know I'm not going. Trust me, _Agent Jack Morrison_," her tone spat poison, "I've been in this situation before. Different names, different races; doesn't matter. You've all got the same intention, the same conclusion in your 'eads. The way you get it may differ, and the reasons change, but it's all the same."

Onyx eyes flickered around the ring of agents; one reached back and grabbed his weapon.

"I've been nice so far, but don't test me; I can get wicked." She chuckled humorlessly, eyes grave.

The trigger-happy man who'd been sizing her up throughout their tense discussion took that as some sort of immediate threat, apparently, because he'd discharged two shots the second the words left her lips. One whizzed past her ear, the other grazing her left, leather-clad shoulder.

Her eyes widened in disbelief, a brief sting noticed and tossed aside before a cruel smirk curled the edges of her mouth. Now she had the excuse of self-defense. Agent Morrison seemed to notice this, too, because he clenched his eyes shut and let out a frustrated breath.

Another officer, releasing his mind to blind reflexes and brute strength, lunged forward. Harbinger side-stepped, chopping her hand to the back of his neck, effectively dropping him to the dirt. The man with a penchant for premature weapon discharges ran up to her right, as another raced to her left. Bringing her right forearm to block a punch, she lifted her left leg to kick her assailant in the gut. He doubled over, and she used her upwards momentum to flip backwards, clipping her other attacker in the shoulder with the heel of her right foot. As he went down, she delivered a round-house kick to the temple, before swiveling and stomping on the gut-punched man's gun-wielding hand. He gave a pained yelp, and Jennifer noticed with begrudging respect as the two downed men were already raising from the ground.

Before another gun could be drawn, or fired, Jennifer closed her eyes and willed herself to focus. There was a clatter as she snapped her fingers, then silence. In a matter of seconds, the sounds of popping and crackling filled the alley.

The booze bottle from before was on fire; the lighter that had been perched precariously on a nearby windowsill floated lazily in the orange lit pool.

The four operatives turned to stare, and that gave Jennifer the opportunity she needed. Turning on a dime, she dug steel-toed boots into the debris filled street and took off. Four pairs of disbelieving eyes stared after her, before the sound of shuffling clicks, muffled curses, heavy pants and rustling fabric resounded against the red bricked walls.

Jennifer raced towards the broken fire escape, jumping at just the right moment to grab a skewed bar. With a guttural grunt, she hefted herself up onto the landing, clambering up the busted steps in a flurry. From the snarled groans below, her pursuers were having some difficulty but would be up in a matter of minutes. She snapped her fingers again, still running.

Tendrils of flame from the puddle curled at an abnormal rate, reaching higher and higher into the cold, night air. The raging pyre raced forward and gripped Jennifer's jean clad calves. But instead of harming her, they circled languidly about her heels, pushing her up and above the roof top buildings. As the shell-shocked agents finally drew their guns and tried to take aim, a seemingly harmless clothesline fell from above, completely aflame and spitting embers onto the operatives below.

She watched from above, hair thrashing and fire crashing, as the cursing agents stomped the clothes line out. Turning away, she flew up.

Slicing through the air like a warm knife through butter and trailing a tail like a shooting star, Jennifer's eyes darkened and a sick smirk sullied her soot stained lips. Four pairs of eyes, bodies littered with superficial burns and suits smoking slightly, gazed at her back.

Morrison kicked a nearby rock, smashing an already cracked window. Raking a hand through his hair and letting out a hissing sigh through his clenched teeth and nose, the fuming agent stalked back to the car.

She'd gotten away. The first time they'd even come close to her, close enough to touch her, and he, Jack Morrison, had let her slip away. Silent curses slid sourly over his tongue, fists clenched at his sides as he entered the vehicle.

"Fury's gonna have my -"

And the door slammed shut.

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Chapter One:

(Year 2012)

The coffee shop stood alone at the corner of don't know and don't care. It served anyone and everyone, unbiased. In turn, all patrons respected the tranquility of the space. The building was small, squat, and neutral; in both its color and air.

She couldn't explain what drew her to this place. Maybe it was the quiet, open space; the soft sound of pages being turned; the deep sense of calm radiating throughout the establishment; the sharp tang of coffee permeating the air; the collective agreement to enjoy and revel in harmony.

Or, maybe, it was the way she could pretend, for just a moment, that she was normal.

Jennifer Harbinger shook her head to clear her thoughts, leaning into the palm of her hand. She sat at an inconspicuous seat in the corner; bright sunlight kissing her closed eyelids and trailing soft fingers along the planes of her face. Her body warmed pleasantly in the comforting glow, the first peaceful smile in a long while gracing her lips.

She watched from the corner of her eye as mutants conversed. It was easy to spot if one knew what to look for: eyes flicker from circular human to narrow cat, the tip of a tail pokes out lazily from the confines of a raincoat, the flash of razor sharp teeth quickly hidden from view. Jennifer was amazed how they could hide in the public eye, as this was the only establishment she could feel relatively safe in. Sure, her powers hadn't manifested physically, like some others, but to control her powers…. Her clothes were chosen at random, stolen from townsfolk who still left their laundry to dry outside, and not at all acceptable for "normal" people. This was one of her only tastes of society and normalcy she could get in her life, now.

The road map under her fingertips drew her reluctant attention, and she made absent notes along random trails. Crossing out another state, Jennifer eyed the United States map critically, running through a list in her head.

_New Mexico?_

_No, still too hot; there was some sort of undercover fiasco there recently. It'll be under some sort of observation._

_New York?_

_And run into Iron Man? If New Mexico was hot, then New York City is radiating nuclear waste._

_Texas?_

…_Could work since Karen's there, but I'll have to keep low-key. Don't want a repeat of the Possum Kingdom forest fires…_

Oh, Karen. Jennifer's one and only contact in the United States, not to mention only friend. A shy girl, with loving parents and a beneficial gift, who couldn't, to pawn an overused idiom, harm a fly. Little Karen, who's first syllable described her whole being: "Care." Karen would house her for a while, at least until Jennifer could find another suitable sewer to slip into. Besides, a home, one with a working bathroom and actual bed, would be a _very _nice change of pace.

With a sigh, she circled the panhandle state with finality. Destination set, she folded up the map and slid it easily into her raggedy shoulder bag, one snatched up at her last pick through an alleyway dumpster. Gripping her steaming cup in one hand, Jennifer turned back to face the sun. So lost was she in her myriad of thoughts, she failed to notice the sudden, stark silence that spread around her. She did, however, catch the scratch of wood on tile sounding just from her left, and the soft scuff of folding cloth.

A voice - frosty, but pleasant enough, with a rigid superiority - spoke from the once vacant seat.

"Ms. Harbinger?"

She let her eyes wander over the man; his three-piece suit and glossy shades reminding her vividly of Men in Black. The man had short trimmed hair and a plastic smile; the way he carried himself spoke of confidence and authority. She couldn't decide whether it was military or bureaucratic in nature. Perhaps both.

She took in the now empty room around her, brows narrowing at the smartly dressed men guarding the exits. Jennifer rested her chin on the back of her hand, answering in a convincing American accent.

"I'm going to assume you know the answer to your question."

He was absent of tells, still regarding her with a cool calculation.

"I'm Agent Phil Coulson with SHIELD."

Klaxons were screaming in her head; she cursed herself for showing surprise, quickly clamping on the emotion. She could read the pleased twinkle in his eye, though his face remained passive.

"SHIELD. So, that's a real organization?" A smirk curled her lips, dark eyes unreadable.

"Yes. I understand you had a less than agreeable first meeting with a previously employed agent of ours."

She tried not to smile at the faded memory of Jack Morrison turning red with frustration. Coulson swung a suitcase onto the table, careful of her cup. She made no move to acknowledge his claims, instead watching him with a hawk-like intensity. Coulson slipped a manila file across the waxed mahogany towards her, where she cautiously opened it.

"Agent Morrison's mission was to locate, but not engage, you and report his findings. His team was dispatched with a clear understanding that you were to be monitored for a time before we sent another agent to intercept you. Unfortunately, he wanted the prestige of bringing you back, and chose to disobey direct orders. He 'jumped the gun.'"

Her gaze jerked from the file she'd been engrossed in to bore angry holes into the icy operative's head.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? That instead of assaulting me, your intentions were to _stalk _me first, and _then_ assault me?" She raised an eyebrow, more amused than irritated, now. "Because you're not doing too good of a job here."

Coulson looked oddly satisfied with Jennifer's reply, but ignored her question. "I'm here to ask you some questions, Ms. Harbinger."

Having resumed her perusing of the files, she absently corrected him without looking up, "Jenny, please. Name's too big a mouthful to keep repeating."

He ignored her again; she was beginning to see a pattern. "What Agent Morrison irresponsibly proposed to you four years ago was not yet operational, and was soon labeled obsolete."

Jennifer's brows scrunched together, confusion coloring her voice. "Okaaaaay. So, if whatever it is has been trashed, why am I reading about it?"

He leant farther back in his chair, folding his hands together on his lap. "I'm here to offer you the option of joining SHIELD's program. We're in need of your special talents."

She lifted a brow. "You're being a bit vague there, Phil. I'm thinking its intentional."

He continued as if she hadn't spoken, "I understand you have some outstanding debts with less than favorable people, and adding that to property damages from all over England, Italy, and now the United States, you're in need of a helping hand. We at SHIELD will be that helping hand. By joining this program, SHIELD will settle everything you owe to the appropriate people, no string attached."

Jennifer's onyx eyes narrowed, scoffing.

"I also understand you've been approached like this before by disagreeable sources. SHIELD will gladly keep these people away, as you'll be an invaluable asset, one whom we won't like to part."

She felt her traitorous face give away her shock, but couldn't muster up the energy to care. He could have no idea of how much that offer would mean to her; never needing to run away anymore, to remain stable. But at the same time, what would be the cost? She was about to enquire as to what the offer entailed on her part, but was interrupted by an electronic chime. She tried not to flinch at the sound. Remaining in hiding took a toll on social decorum and knowledge, and Jennifer still couldn't handle some modern oddities, cell phones included.

Coulson reached into his suit pocket and checked his phone, eyebrows creasing. Placing it back, he turned to the still sitting Jennifer.

"Excuse me, Ms. Harbinger, but I have urgent matters I must attend to. Please, read through the file and make a decision. We'll be in touch."

Coulson rose gracefully from his seat, easily snapping the briefcase closed; she watched him stride purposefully outside, the remaining guards filing out silently. Turning back to the file, she entertained the thought of going after them; wondered why she hadn't taken them out the moment he sat down. Wondered how they'd found her. She'd made sure to cover her tracks, to remain invisible, just like she'd always done. What changed?

And how could it change even more?

Closing her eyes and breathing out a sigh, Jennifer closed the manila folder. Scarred fingers raked through recently chopped locks.

_I'm going to regret this, I just know it. _She thought, resigned. Bringing her roadmap back onto the table, Jennifer crossed out Texas. She pulled the file closer, reading the operation's name out-loud.

"'_Avenger's Initiative_.'"

_Avenger's? What could possibly need avenging that people would willingly enlist _my _help?_

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**Review so I can get an idea on whether this story is a no, or a go for you all. **

**Sincerely, Raven T.**

**Edit 8-8-12 : Hey, just to let you all know that I went through and fixed a few things, but not much. Hope that made reading a little better, though, like I said, it was only some minor stuff.**


	2. Sparks to Life

**Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or the Avengers. I don't own anything here, except Jenny Harbinger and her powers, some of the ideas throughout, and this gum I've been chewing for about five hours, now. Do I sound like Stan Lee and company with that discription? I thought not.**

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**B U R N**

_Raven T._

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Chapter Two:

(Three weeks later)

Jennifer Harbinger was a survivor.

She had learned the hard way that not all helping hands (very few in fact) ever held good intentions, and to look every gift horse in the mouth. Five years of hard luck and harsh streets had taught her that, and it had saved her more oft then not. Life was tough, deal with it; that was her philosophy.

A sad one, she knew, and a pretty sad life, too, but it was hers, and she'd cling to it with whatever vestige of strength she possessed. No one could take it from her, not if she had any say; control was hers, and if any criminal gangs or bureaucratic bull-spinners tried to snatch it away, she'd scream and she'd kick and she'd bite and she'd play every dirty trick in the book until they were gone and she was on top.

Jennifer Harbinger liked to think herself practical, choosing the best option for her and her alone. The best thing about remaining alone was that she had no others to worry over, none to care about. She only had to fend for herself, and create the best possibility out of the nothing handed her way. Comrades brought responsibility of an entirely different level, one she could never fully prepare for.

That's why, when Agent Coulson failed to contact her in the coming week after their first meeting, she'd squashed all hope regarding the Avengers. A bit rash, but so was her tumultuous life. She had to be on the move, and if SHIELD couldn't get it together, then she had their answer, and they had hers. Besides, it wasn't like she hadn't berated herself for the childish display of _want_ when handed a mere stack of papers and a dodgy, well rehearsed suit's spiel. When a too-good-to-be-true offer lands in one's lap, Jennifer knew, there was no way it would pan out.

In the second week, she'd vanished, telling herself she hadn't given into staying the extra day or two (or five) in case Coulson came back. No matter how convincingly she spun it, she knew it would probably take a god of lies to trick her into believing _that _farce.

She'd followed on with her original plan to Fort Worth, Texas, and located Karen. There, Jennifer had coaxed the necessary papers for a hazardless flight from her, though the young girl's disapproving and concerned tones grated Jennifer's already raw nerves. She remembered the conversation well, too well, and while most of Karen's mannerisms amused her, Jennifer had never been more disgruntled by her ability to read when she was upset. And Karen was quite the reader.

"Jen," she'd asked, already setting up the couch in her small apartment for her impromptu guest, "Why do ya need to leave so suddenly? I mean, you only just got here, and you _know_ I never mind you stayin'. So, I guess what I'm tryin' to say here is: who do I need'ta punch?"

The brown-haired girl had given a startled bark of a laugh, both at having trouble imagining someone as gentle as Karen resorting to violence of any kind, and wondering how, in only the few minutes she'd been there, Karen had seen anything wrong. Jennifer had sighed and finally relented under the ocean-eyed stare, spilling everything from Agent Morrison to Agent Coulson. Once finished, Jennifer had watched with wide eyes as her mother hen went straight to the computer.

"Do I need to ask?" She'd hazarded.

Karen had shaken her head, then motioned for silence. Then, to Jennifer's utter fascination, proceeded to converse with said piece of technology. And Jennifer means converse, because, while Karen spoke in soothing tones, the machine beeped back.

Jennifer was forever left floundering as to how astounding and awe-inspiring Karen's mutant gift was.

While Karen persuaded the very _internet _to comply a fake identity so Jennifer could take a plane (though she hated the buggers, a rusty tin can in the sky, just asking to be smote down), said traveler began the torturous process of reintroducing herself into the technological world. Many movies and social media terms later, Karen having finally forced Jennifer to sit still through more unpleasant afflictions (those Youtube memes would haunt her nightmares, she knew), Jennifer immersed herself in the innovative advances in cellular phones and something called an apple. But, it didn't look like any apple Jennifer had seen.

And if only she could have gotten the blasted toaster to work properly.

Now, the fourth week since her disappointing encounter with Agent Coulson, the fugitive disembarked the plane and left the airport, thankful for Karen's prowess in sweet-talking computers and her kindness for letting Jennifer borrow a pair of decent clothes.

As par her usual routine when entering a new country, Stuttgart, Germany this time, Jennifer traipsed around its underground, exchanging news with illicit channels for her own juicy gossip. Information was an important tool for survival in her "line of work," and being in the know could be the difference between life and death.

Jennifer, fortunately, had mastered haggling through the years, and so spent the better part of an afternoon getting more than she was giving. And, while a believer in mutant equality (people were still a bit close-minded, even after the whole X-Men debacle she'd heard about from her contact in Professor Xavier's academy), even she couldn't bother to continue listening to the barmy old woman claiming to be a psychic, swearing up and down the grimy, soot-stained alley walls that something menacing was coming. A reliable source had told Jennifer the old-timer was a loon, a notorious loon, so the brown-haired loner had left it alone. Maybe she shouldn't have.

Would've saved her a load of trouble, that's for sure.

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She was wandering aimlessly through polished streets, eyes roving through the mill of people in fascination. Real people; moms and dads, students and teachers. A woman running a bakery. A man walking his dog. Jennifer quietly marveled at how simple they were, so uncomplicated. It hit her hard, how messed up she was, how screwed up her life had become. Behind her tough hide, the stone walls and barbed wire, Jennifer felt that little girl she'd been years ago. And it scared her.

To be so close to the everyday lives, to breathe clean air, watching happiness in the streets; she could only thank (and curse) her lucky stars that Karen had given her those ripped jeans and slightly moth-holed hoodie, or she'd have stood out like a sore thumb. Part of her thrived here, passing strangers (and pick-pocketing elite looking businessmen), but another, wounded piece just wished for the woods, the sewers, some alienated space where no one could touch her, couldn't reach her.

She came to a stop at a tasteful-looking shop and leant against the pane glass, just breathing. Cinnamon and rainwater filled her nose, cotton rubbing soothingly against her skin, the wind fluttering through her hair, cooling her neck and fanning her face. Her smile was genuine, if not strained.

With a sigh, Jennifer progressed down the block, before spotting another woman, middle-aged, with her hands securely held by two children, a little girl and boy. Twins, by the looks of it, and near the five to six age mark. All three had blonde hair and dressed casually, the little girl devouring a rainbow-swirled lollipop. They were laughing.

A man in a sharp suit, looking slightly out of breath, ran to greet them. He and the mother kissed, while the two kids made faces. Then the man, presumably the father, reached down to embrace them both, before bringing the boy atop his shoulders, eliciting a giggle from the little guy. The man smiled, carefree and happy.

Jennifer turned abruptly down an alley, deciding a change of scenery was due.

Taking a few twists and turns (and climbing a few fire escapes), Jennifer found herself heading into the more toff side of town, grimacing. She was dressed nicely, better than her usual ensemble of moth-mottled scraps, but definitely below the bar for this neighborhood. Though, now that she looked, it wasn't so much of a neighborhood as a sort-of town square-esque communal for the above-middleclass.

Deciding to bear it while making her way to a less glamorous part of the city, more bourgeoisie than "C'est Magnifique," she strolled down an adjoining avenue and walked carefully across the street, heading along a busy sidewalk.

Looking to the sky, Jennifer was startled to a stop, noticing for the first time how much darker it was, more stormy-ocean than baby blue. She hurried past, head swishing wildly to look for a park or bench to rest at for the night. Preferably a park, one with towering trees; she rather liked sleeping in a cradle of wooden limbs, especially when no bolshie policeman could rudely awaken her for "disturbing the peace." It had been only appropriate for his cruiser to abruptly burst into flames, she knew. And besides, she had been grumpy from her interrupted sleep. Couldn't _really _blame her, right? That was years ago, though, and she'd become increasingly more careful (paranoid) with who she interacted with.

It was while she was caught in her musings, ignorant and oblivious to the goings-on around her (and she'd forever curse herself for this loss in alertness) that she was suddenly swept up in a crowd flooding from an ancient-looking building, all ritzy with class. The people were dressed for a ballroom dance or gala of some sort, all suits and extravagant dresses. Jennifer fought to escape the hoard, but a rush of curious commonality only shoved her further into the scrambling sea of frantic bodies. She pushed people, kicked, nearly bit the hands off those urging her about in their sick, swirling circle before she finally noticed the screaming.

Shrill, terrified shrieks from the women, and angry/desperate, bordering on animalistic grunts from the men. Citizens were trampling other citizens in their haste to escape whatever horror had transpired in the glitzy hall atop the stone-paved steps. Hands clawed at her face, yanked the metal in her ears; pain and fear mingled into a scent so potent Jennifer nearly succumbed, only staying afloat by sheer force of will. The cries were reaching a crescendo in that giant cacophony of white noise that was sending Jennifer into the beginnings of panic, like an atrociously amateur band in a small, echo-inducing garage as every member tried to pull off their solos at once.

She was almost glad when the soft, alluring chuckles began, if only because the horrible din started to dim. She latched onto the sound, tried to focus on it and only it, to ride out the hectic storm and into calmer waters. She'd squeezed her eyes shut and went through the only process that could calm her down: finding sources of fire.

With surgeon-like precision, Jennifer searched and came up with a total of two cars nearby, twenty-seven lighters strewn through the chaos (not counting the four on her person), three boxes of matches, one booze bottle currently gripped in a frightened, older man's chubby hands as a make-shift weapon, and the components of her very own body. So, if the feces hit the fan, she had good material to work with. It was this thought, not the fact that the frantic crowd had started to quiet, that got her to calm.

And she was just coming off the adrenaline high when all Hade's demons broke loose.

"KNEEL!"

Jennifer almost hit the ground from the crazed force behind the command, but her edgy nerves and iron pride kept her knees locked (she would notice that he spoke in English, and not German, another time). She watched warily as others dropped to the streets, like a wave of dominos falling swiftly over. Thank whatever sadistic, yet merciful deity was out there that she'd been hustled to the farthest spot from the armor-plated, staff-wielding psycho, or he would have noticed her blatant defiance. Then, she took note of how the mass of bodies trapping her was surrounded by doubles of the same man.

Huh.

As the green-obsessed guy parted the crowd like a warm knife through butter (and it was the original speaker, not the five glowering at the bowing flock, and boy did her brain short-out on that one), Jennifer lithely dropped to a crouch, her stubborn pride refusing to actually genuflect.

When an old geezer in casual wear, a commoner, rose and apposed the manic mental case (also speaking in English, but she filed that away for later), Jennifer almost straightened to stand as well, only stopping when she realized she'd only give herself away. And for what use? She'd be in a better position with the element of surprise anyway.

Letting the poor sod distract the "should-be ruler of Midgard," whatever that meant, Jennifer hurriedly slipped a hand into her pouch, palming the lighter in the sleeve of her jacket. Jennifer knew this wasn't going to end well, whatever this was, so she prepared herself to fight. Focusing her mind, Jennifer reached into the flammable components around her, ready to set the air alight. She was just about to spark to life when she noticed the glowing staff was aimed at a civilian.

Luckily, and just in the nick of time (and how cliché, she thought later), a man in American styled protective gear and blue, denim jeans shielded him with…a shield. And then a corrupted blue light erupted from the staff against the shield (also colored with the Fourth of July in mind, she noticed a minute after), and a blinding light bounced off.

Huh. Again.

Jennifer took a moment to process that. Thankfully, a moment was all she needed before throwing out the obvious "what the-" for a more simplistic "not important at the moment, at least not as important as the crazy guy who looks rather miffed that his magic cudgel power was thwarted and bounced off what looks like an ordinary, curved piece of metal." It was a good choice, she soon realized.

Then the star-spangled banner boy tried to speak, and there was more light, and Jennifer's mind was too stressed with holding the particles together, ready to burst, to pay much attention. Believing the civilians to have evacuated, she was about to flick the igniter when a pained cry reached her ears. Losing concentration, narrowed black orbs swerved the battlefield, taking in the destruction, so already wrecked was the plaza after just a few moments.

Jennifer tried to not let that chill her, how much damage was wrought by merely two individuals. A small, shriveled voice told her to run, to escape; the shield-wielding man could handle the green guy, just get out, it wasn't her business.

_You could get hurt, you're scared, RUN._

Another explosion-like blast, followed by the same hurt shriek as before, and she took off towards the sound, an instinctive response. What she came across made a primal part of her roar. Blazing eyes took in the fragile frame of the child, shallow cuts blossoming sliver-thin trails across his rounded features. The small boy was lying beneath an upended chunk of broken pavement, leg trapped beneath.

She remembered that voice, her cowardly survival instinct, that shameful moment of weakness. How close she'd been to running, still was. Then Jennifer looked into the boy's fever-bright, chocolate brown eyes.

Using her enhanced strength, Jennifer shouldered the concrete slab just high enough for the boy to slide his foot away, then let the heavy weight fall clamorously to the ground.

"Danke!" He cried once free, with a voice synonymous with puppies and bubblegum. Jennifer wasn't really sure why it made her think of that, only coming to guess it was the innocence radiating off the boy like sunshine.

She watched the kid rise clumsily to his feet, only giving him an odd smile (partly in relief that his leg wasn't crushed and merely bruised with superficial scratches along the small limb). She knew the barest of German, but the sentiment was made clear from the glowing grin she received. Uncomfortable with thanks, she awkwardly patted his curly, blonde hair before pointing in the direction the earlier crowd had fled. Jennifer spotted a frantic woman screaming something unintelligible, but from the kid's tearing eyes and responding wails, she assumed it to be his mother.

Jennifer watched his back as he catapulted into the blonde woman's arms, surveying the area for any incoming attacks or rebounding backlashes. She and the mother shared a heavy look before the two humans raced away, leaving Jennifer their watchful guardian. Once the two were out of sight, she pivoted towards the brawling duo, almost shocked speechless with the damage they'd done.

She'd turned just in time to lock eyes with the supposed American, to see his grim acknowledgement before he threw himself back into battle. His movements were swift reactions to the calculated strikes from the emerald-eyed man, a soldier's moves. The psycho, however, had a more elegant fighting style, a mix of structure and chaos, planned blows and mischief.

With a sigh, knowing she couldn't slink away now that she'd been seen, Jennifer again pulled out her lighter and flicked it to life. With nimble fingers and fluid movements, there was soon a ring of fire dancing above her upturned palms, the now empty lighter discarded in the rubble.

It only took a moment for the two to notice, and Jennifer allowed herself to revel in the shock flashing through their eyes. They'd stopped with a good few feet between them, weapons at the ready and both breathing hard. The American's surprise had her smirking, but the magician's had her laughing maniacally inside the confines of her head. Take THAT you homicidal megalomaniac, try and rule HER!

She stopped when she realized it was shifting past vengeful and into mild hysterics.

"So," she asked conversationally projecting calm and confidence with her American accent, having perfected it long ago. "Might I be invited to this little party you're having, or do I have to crash it? Because I have a small beef with man in the excessively elongated horn-helmet." She gave a small, condescending eyebrow raise, as if to convey the thought "compensating much?" to the smug psycho telepathically.

The American seemed at a loss, but the sorcerer was more amused. Like a clever child watching a previously unpopular and forgotten toy perform a particularly entertaining trick.

"Ma'am, this is a dangerous man, you should evacuate as well." He stood with bent knees, shield ready on his arm, prepared for any attack from the black-haired, manic man, who seemed much more rational than in his earlier speech. But, his eyes were trained on the fire bending prettily through her coarse hands. Didn't expect that, did he, thought Jennifer, her smirk growing more pronounced. She could see the confusion on his masked face, and reveled in it.

"And what have I done to offend the fair lady?" said psycho asked in dulcet tones, a pleasant smirk on his pale, snake-like lips.

Jennifer's eyes bore into his, and she used their hard, black gaze to the fullest. His lips quirked up the slightest bit.

"My pride doesn't take being commanded easily," she said dryly, "Especially not when it's to submit myself to a psycho bent on world domination. Which, by the way, cliché much?"

She grinned cockily, morphing the fire into spheres so she could juggle them jauntily, strolling through the debris and cracked concrete. She marveled at how easily she had stilled their fight, how the two couldn't help but stare at her fire. She could almost feel the calculations in those jade depths, the knowledge that a new player had entered the game.

She was within staff-wielding distance when the air burst into a hum, and a lethal steel tank flew down from the starlit sky, hovering a few yards above the pavement. Menacing cannons and Gatling guns flew from the confines of the metal bird, artillery shells and belts glinting with promise.

The fire in her hands flickered out as she stood there motionless, black eyes wide and glued to the jet/helicopter/armory hybrid before her.

"_SHIELD places you under arrest, Loki Laufeyson. Remain where you are and come quietly._"

And then, because that seemed to be her luck as of late, the loon - _Loki_, her mind supplied unhelpfully, and where had she heard that name before? - swung his spear in a graceful arc. Right smack against her skull.

She heard the beginnings of a masterful guitar riff as she blacked out.

* * *

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, bee-

SMASH.

Jennifer's eyes snapped open, pupils dilating and adrenaline high. She didn't know where she was, how she'd gotten there. Was she safe? Had she been harmed? Other than her smarting hand, she couldn't feel anything, so she took that as a small victory.

Her head whipped around frantically as she studied her surroundings, noticing the cracked screen of a nearby heart monitor and an IV drip. Following the plastic tube down to her own arm, she viciously ripped it out, ignoring the twinge of pain in favor of the security camera glaring down at her.

How had they, whoever "they" were, gotten an IV in her? Her skin was supposed to be tough enough to stop a bullet from entering, not to mention a small needle. It was supposed to be impossible.

_Well, THAT just flew out the window. So much for British Military standards, eh? _Her thoughts turned darkly contemplative. A blade of any sort would cause internal bleeding, depending on the amount of force behind it, should one come into contact with her person, but wouldn't, theoretically, be able to slice her open and draw blood. A dirty bomb? Following the same notion, while the impact from the explosion alone would probably stop her heart, no shrapnel would be able to bite into her skin. She was impenetrable, but not invincible.

For a chilling second, Jennifer contemplated whether she'd been recaptured by _them_, the ones who'd originally gifted her that tough hide, who had changed her beyond her original, natural mutation of fire-bending. If they'd gotten a hold of her again, they could have changed her back, taken her tripled strength, her impenetrability. It would explain her susceptibility to the fragile, now broken needle crushed beneath her palm.

She could feel the beginnings of panic uncurl in her stomach, threatening to claw up her throat and through her mouth in a scream. The stark, white walls weren't helping, nor was the sharp smell of antiseptic, so strong she could almost taste it on the back of her tongue, with the memories of pain and death lingering in the recesses of her mind.

She dropped the tube still grasped in her hand, watching it fall with a small clatter to the floor. With a shuddering breath, she forced her thoughts to calm, focusing on the fact she'd mangled the IV needle with only a minute pressure from her fisted hand. They hadn't taken it from her; she still had her iron skin to hide behind.

To further settle her frantic thoughts, she checked her pockets, thankful she had stayed in her previous clothes, to take inventory of her stolen goods. Feeling the smooth metal of her three remaining lighters, a small flicker of calm warmed her from the rest of the fear freezing her lungs, shortening her breath, and threatening to choke her. She grinned naughtily when her fingers touched warm leather, remembering the fool she'd palmed the wallet from.

And then a burst of memory hit her like a ton of bricks, of _polished streets_ and _Germany's underground_, _a command to kneel_, and _chocolate-brown eyes shining with thanks_.

Her brain took a moment to process the onslaught of images, frustrated when no more surfaced. Okay, now she knew _what _kind of crazy could have ended her up in a hospital, but who, when, or why remained just out of reach.

Doing something productive seemed a better idea than contemplating her rotten luck, she thought firmly, not allowing herself to wallow in the confusion laced fear abound. Leaping from the cot, which was quite lavish for a hospital bed, Jennifer walked to the glowing display, taking in her written injuries. She refused to let the digital board worry her, to let her mind assume it was standard nowadays. But even as technologically unaware as she was, Jennifer could tell it was much more advanced then any average medical facility should possess.

That also gave her a moment of pause. Her original captors hadn't possessed this kind of tech, not to say they didn't have it now, but even if they had, they weren't the sort to use it as a tool to _help_ their experiments. To study? Yes. Aid their mutant prisoners in recovery? A very laughable, but firm no. Another point that she had to be somewhere else, then. Her relief was short-lived, because if it wasn't her original tormentors, then who had her now?

The devil you know, the devil you don't.

Shaking herself free, Jennifer again studied the monitor. Though she possessed a modicum of knowledge for medical jargon, a mixed blessing from her earlier years, a few phrases remained incomprehensible. Of what she could decipher, she suffered a few scrapes and bruises. And, while nothing she couldn't handle, she'd also received a minor concussion. That last one through her for quite a loop.

_What in the world did I do to get a bloody concussion?_

She was wondering over the situation she'd managed to throw herself in now, when the pain started. Like a wave, it lulled from the back of her mind to the forefront, causing her vision to blacken. (Another outspoken part of her brain, unaffected by the agony slowly etching itself permanently into her skull, quietly steamed at her growing encounters with the overused clichés of the world. As her vision continued to tunnel, the hysterical voice screamed that anopsia was _not_ on her bucket list, and her vision better return now, or there would be consequences!)

Jennifer staggered blindly, reaching out and clutching the first thing her thin, yet strong fingers could reach. As she collapsed onto it, her grip twisted, and she fell to the ground in an awkward heap of limbs.

At least she'd found the door?

Jennifer's head smacked tile, and a wave of nausea overtook her, sending her overloading brain into a residual spiral of all the pent-up emotions and wild conjectures about her wildly unfair predicament. Desperate for some kind of control over the debilitating situation, she crawled up the cool wall, her knife-like nails (the ones she hadn't bitten and ripped off) digging into the plaster.

Thankfully, her eyesight was coming back, and she quickly checked her surroundings, lest she lay virtually naked to any enemy around. Jennifer was slumped in a sprawl against the wall in an unassuming hallway, one empty of people, but not security cameras.

All of which were trained on her.

With the jackhammer running its jagged course through her head, and the litany of foul language storming from her mouth, she really couldn't be bothered to add the worry of how _those _things would complicate her already monstrously growing pile of -.

_Focus, Jenny, you've overcome pain before. Get it together._

Through the black, beckoning veil of unconsciousness, she hungrily spotted an air vent. The bloody murder pounding in her head was starting to dull, so Jennifer tore the metal from its confines, screws clattering painfully in throbbing ears.

With a now thankfully bearable ache clanking through her temporal lobe, she dryly noted how she'd soon be wriggling through a near-airtight space with shallow oxygen and a cramped, difficult-to-navigate passageway into the unknown.

Just beautiful. She was going from the physical pain in her head to a psychological torture inside the vast depths of the vents. Lord, did she hate crawling through dark, never-ending tunnels. Sewers were one thing, with the smell, but at least they were _bigger_.

With a hissed breath, too pained to be a sigh, she heaved herself into the metal tunnel, heedless of the mechanical eyes on her. Let them know she was gone, she thought. How would they react? What was their purpose? Drawing them out, toward her, was the best option she could think of. Hiding in the ventilation system would give her a few precious moments to recover and learn the lay of whatever land she was in, so she would be better able to fight back, should it come to that.

She need information, hard facts if she was going to get out unharmed. Plan formed, Jennifer set off through the narrow network, coal eyes dark with determination. So, acting as the cheese, she'd draw out the sorry rats who'd captured her, and confront them. Either that, or she'd escape. Both were good options.

Her throbbing temples were more inclined to the second option, for some unfathomable reason.

* * *

Jennifer's head was swimming with the smell of the dust and must wafting around, a headache reforming from earlier with the constant chatter resounding through the grates. Thankfully, there were no _real_ rats, or other assorted vermin, scuttling through the ducts, or she probably would've had a hernia, her unknown and potentially dangerous situation taking a backseat to those sickening creatures.

The only information she'd found told her she was in some kind of American government facility, drastically different from her brief memories of Germany. But, from what she'd seen, nothing spoke of mutant experimentation or corrupted ideals. It was a mix of bureaucracy and militia, as all employees carried company-issued pistols, but anything like what she'd previously seen from U.S. troops. They weren't even that of an average, American intelligence agency, like the CIA or FBI, which had, from what Jennifer had briefly seen through her travels, formal suits and ties.

No, they were something of a slim and slick body gear mixed with office wear, built for cubicle workers and away missions both. But, she also saw through her ventilation vantage point a very many rooms filled with nothing but pencil-pushers and computer lackeys. She amended her thoughts on their inability to be an intelligence agency, because what military branch housed techies?

An answering shudder rippled through her, one mixed with memories of keyboards typing away her statistics, of her pain threshold, what she reacted to more violently; the sniveling gremlins who hooked her up to their wicked machines, the endless walls of rooms, just for her, _all for her_.

She shook her head, shoving the memories away, burying them deep. She needed to focus. She needed to move.

Grunting as she shimmied passed a fan, she recalled that the organization was vast, and from what she'd witnessed, it had a lot of bunce flowing through it, what with all the expensive tech lining the halls like wallpaper. So, make that a _secret, _American government intelligence facility. She didn't let that shiver threatening to shake her body through, even if the title made her stomach drop.

Secrets always came with a high price, Jennifer knew.

So, Jennifer relented that she _had _learned some important stuff, but that didn't bloody mean it was what she needed. Jennifer was growing weary, both with the info she hadn't found, and the info she had, not to mention the bloody emotional rollercoaster mixed with her aching temples still pounding away at her sanity. Though she'd been lucky to have found the information early on in her search, Jennifer had been army-crawling for the better part of an hour, and the cramp threatening to form in her left calf, and the aforementioned head wound, were putting a huge restriction on her usual endurance.

She enjoyed her position, though, for a multitude of reasons. She could take down enemies from an elevated perch, hide from the patrolling security in an overlooked and underestimated passageway, reach information she'd be stumped to find otherwise. The only problem was the cramped space and awkward motions she was forced to make to scramble through.

Having accidentally jabbed her elbow into her stomach for the third time, the disgruntled nineteen-year-old let loose her frustration by kicking open a nearby panel with excessive force. She dropped down like a thief in the night, contrary to her initial action, and silently rose from her crouch in the luckily empty room, not having checked through the slits before her thunderous entry.

With the absence of light and people, the room took on a haunted feel, like something was watching her every move, waiting. For what, Jennifer really didn't care to know.

Keeping close to the wall, Jennifer edged the door open, peaking her head into the corridor. It was the same as the first hallway, the one she'd stumbled out of after waking up, plain and without workers. It seemed odd for a building with such a multitude of personnel to have places so noiseless, so absent of conversation and footsteps and shuffling papers and keyboard clacks and muttered words and quiet breathing.

It was rather eerie how uninhabited it was, how alone she was. She couldn't help but feel some paranoia, because, really, what were the chances that she'd find the only abandoned space in the complex? The only _two_ abandoned spaces, she amended, because why weren't there guards of some sort stationed by the door to her hospital room? She'd seen massive amounts of people on her little adventure, but none were around when she deigned to walk instead of crawl. A coincidence?

She thought not.

Ignoring the worrisome notions, Jennifer again checked the hallway, and again, she found it wanting. No one. She knew she was alone in her life, save for the handful of contacts she'd made over the years, but this was in an entirely different sense of the word. A little too literal for her taste, though she was thankful there would, hopefully, be no bloodshed.

Feeling the cold of the corridor beginning to seep into her skin, Jennifer continued upwards, sticking to the walls like a shadow. She crept up a nearby stairway, easing through some entryways and down an adjoining passageway.

Jennifer quickly reached a set of steel doors, pausing a moment at the sound of rushing air and flocks of birds coming from the other side. She felt herself grinning so wide her cheeks ached; she'd found the exit! Looking through the small glass square fitted into the door, her midnight eyes took in the hopeful sight of sunny rays and the wide, open sky.

The really open sky.

A sky so open, in fact, that it seemed to surround the building she was in. And, it had to be a building, right, because she couldn't be in the air, no way, and what else could something so massive be, other than an imposing edifice with a structure built into the _earth_ where human beings, and most mutants, were, you know, _supposed to bloody be_?

As she continued to work herself into an even deeper set of hysterics, her nerves gearing up to fry spectacularly, she took another cursory look out the window, hoping desperately to find some concrete evidence (or just plain concrete, please, accompanied by soil and dirt, hopefully, or maybe a car on a street, cause she really didn't care too much anymore, she just wanted _something_), some very concrete evidence that she was firmly on terra firma.

But then she caught sight of the rows of helicopters and jets lining the long expanse before her, and a distant glimpse at the water below, a massive body if her eyesight could be trusted.

She blinked. And then proceeded to flip out. Epically.

_I'm on a bleedin' AIRCRAFT CARRIER in the middle of the BLOODY OCEAN?!_

Ah, there was the panic; she was beginning to miss it.

Not.

Icy fingers trailed nauseous patterns over her stomach, climbing along her back and settling like a vice in her pounding heart. Her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, her vision tunneling with both her headache and shallow breath. Trembling fingers took hold of the metal handle, knuckles bone white. She had to leave, to go outside, prove whether she really was above water, _good God_, or not.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you; gets hard to breath at this altitude."

The remark was doused in an edgy, heavy timbre that spoke of authority; it was dry, like Autumn leaves, with a touch of condescension that hinted at knowledge he shouldn't possess.

She swiveled around to face a man cloaked in shadow, his left eye hidden behind a patch of midnight and a rosy-haired woman bathed in black leather by his side. The male, a human by the looks of it, stood at a casual parade rest, arms arranged loosely behind his back; the female, also an assumed human, was fluid in her stillness, with a sense of corded muscle and power, like a jungle cat.

Jennifer had her lighter lit and a ball of flame in hand before the mystery man could take another breath. While he merely lifted an unimpressed brow, his bodyguard, as she seemed to be, reacted immediately to the threat; she had a pistol leveled steadily at Jennifer's head with a speed and fluid movement almost in sync with Jennifer's quick hands.

"Where am I?" Her voice was scratchy from disuse, and though it was more of a guttural growl than a polite inquiry, the imposing figure answered anyway.

"You're on the helicarrier, Miss Harbinger," he said, then motioned with his right hand toward the abandoned hallway, eyes never leaving the fire in her palm. "There are a few things you need to be caught up on, it seems."

A feeling of dread settled under her ribcage, because she could just guess how the helicarrier differed from an aircraft carrier, and it wasn't to her liking, not at all.

Her eyes darted to the armed woman, but quickly landed back on the man; an instinctual part of her being screamed that he was the more lethal of the two, never mind the gun aimed at her head. He must have seen her look, because he waved the agent down. As soon as the gun was holstered, with a brief look of reluctance from the feline female, and no other antagonistic moves were made, Jennifer slowly led her flame back into the half-empty lighter, flicking the lid closed with a small flourish and slipping it back into her sleeve, just in case.

She brought her gaze back to the dark man. "Helicarrier?"

She felt a small wave of relief when her voice came out slightly more human, revealing none of the terror roiling inside her gut. She could feel it ebbing, now that she could no longer see the nauseous sight of open air and ocean and _oh my God, we're in thin atmosphere with no land in sight -_

Calm. Concentrate. The grim man was talking, she reminded herself forcefully.

"The helicarrier is SHIELD's headquarters and response center, ready to take on whatever evil threatens our world." His tone held more solemnity than Jennifer would've liked, but it helped to anchor her, to give her something to focus on.

And then the words took hold, and a flash of memory hit her like a speeding dump truck; that mental man - _Loki _- and the American man, and the flying tank with an armory on its back, cause there really was no other why to describe it, and _"SHIELD places you under arrest, Loki Laufeyson. Remain where you are and come quietly._"

Oh. Oh, now she remembered!

But that didn't make her feel any better.

"SHIELD? I'm in SHIELD's headquarters?" A heavy note of disbelief soaked her voice, and a stray thought wondered why she hadn't been left in rubble when Loki'd downed her.

Another thought on when (not if, when) she'd get a chance to repay the favor.

The man merely nodded, ignoring the incredulity mixed irritation in her voice. Jennifer had a drifting thought of Agent Coulson, and figured it was an agency thing.

"I'm Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD, and this is Agent Romanoff. Miss Harbinger, if you'll come with me, I think we could clear this up quickly and have you on your way." Then an indecipherable gleam entered his eye, brow narrowing in what Jennifer assumed was thought. "Or, if you'll consider it, I have another proposal to apprise you of."

Without giving her time to answer, or think, Fury turned on his heel with a negligent flourish, Romanoff shadowing him as he stalked away. Feeling increasingly stressed with her day, Jennifer scrambled to catch up, boots squeaking obnoxiously on the tile.

Though she was out of the fire on this one, a sinking feeling in her gut told her more was to come.

Blimey, she just could not catch a break.

* * *

Jennifer more or less collapsed into a chair the second she walked through the automatic doors, paying no mind to the goings-on around her.

Director Fury, as imposing as the man was, settled most of Jennifer's fears and answered her questions with ease. He assured her that no tests had been taken, and the only reason they'd been able to get an IV in her was with the use of an adamantium needle. It was, apparently, the only thing their medics could find that would penetrate her skin.

She made a mental note to procure some, as a metal of such strength could come in handy for her.

Romanoff, surprisingly, was the one to explain to her how they'd used their security cameras to track her movements, deciding to wait in the shadows before attempting a confrontation. They had bugs everywhere, as it turned out, and were monitoring her progress while silently evacuating any premises she entered on foot. It was a safety precaution, she'd been assured, and they had no intention of assaulting her.

A small part of her sighed in relief, another tensing for a catch. There was always a catch, especially when tight-lipped agencies went out of their way to _assure_ people like her. She had decided to file that away for later, and focus on the present, because finding out what the bloody L was going on took precedence, she finally decided.

While Fury had tried to explain the whole mess SHIELD had gotten itself into with Loki, the same mess that had, subsequently, dragged her in, too, wave after wave of stressed agents kept bombarding him left and right to authorize this and approve that. Fury had finally given up with a disgruntled sigh and directed Agent Romanoff to escort Jennifer to the Briefing Room, while he monitored progress.

Keeping up with the agent was, in a word, impossible.

Though rough years had taught Jennifer how to run, and she meant really run, nothing could have prepared her for Romanoff's extreme style of _escort_.

The scarlet-haired woman would dive through crowds like the wind, without brushing a single person in the maelstrom of activity. Through the flurries of people, Romanoff was like a shadow, slipping through without a backwards glance from anyone.

Jennifer, on the other hand, had to barrel her way through the frantic throngs, using her elbows and swift footwork to try and minimize her chances of getting squished. Thankfully, Romanoff seemed to take pity on her, and stuck to less inhabited walkways. Either that, or she'd gotten tired of having to stop and wait for her to catch up.

Probably the second. Romanoff didn't seem the pitying kind.

Finally, the flame-haired agent merely grabbed Jennifer's jacket sleeve and towed her through the milling agents. It may have gotten them to the Briefing Room faster, but it was bloody murder on Jennifer's feet and pride, and the brown-haired lass saw fit to stew in her black mood. Romanoff left her to it, having done her duty, and was leaning against a pillar.

While Jennifer was grumbling, she decided to take in her surroundings, too tired to reprimand herself over her lack of awareness. She was bloody exhausted, and since there was no immediate threat, as near as she could tell, Jennifer would take the small blessing and allow herself some rest. If worst came to worse, she'd light up the engines or something, take the metal bird down a few notches. Blinking to clear the thought from her head, she let her eyes wander.

While the Briefing Room brought images of office buildings and business meetings to her head, SHIELD's version caused her narrowed eyes to widen comically.

The room was huge, curving out in an oval, dome-like structure. A large pane of glass covered the opposite wall from where Jennifer sat, and she tried desperately not to look at it. There was only so much panic she could endure, and with a glimpse a mere three or so yards away, she wasn't going to bloody stare at it.

She was in one chair of many situated around a circular table on a slightly elevated level, where a short step down were rows upon rows of diligent employees at computer terminals, typing away some nonsense Jennifer didn't care to know. There was an undercurrent of purpose to their actions, to the residual air of the expanse that made the little hairs on the back of Jennifer's neck rise. She was only starting to get used to the modern world, and then the universe throws her into an advanced, secret agency for the U.S. government that housed the very image of cutting edge technology?

Ugh.

Her stomach growled, loud and long, and she darted a look at the red-headed agent to her right. To her supreme embarrassment, Romanoff's hawk-like intensity was focused on her, or more accurately, her abdomen. Jennifer raised an eyebrow.

"What?" It was a little more stand-offish than was probably called for, but Jennifer didn't care. She let her black eyes slowly drag down Romanoff's figure, like a challenge, then flicked up to her eyes. It was the agent's turn to quirk a brow.

"Nothing, nothing. Just wondering how long you've gone without food. You were out for three hours." Her tone was pleasant, soothing, a touch of irony to every word she spoke, a soft cadence that eased her ears. Romanoff's mouth lifted at the corner, but it didn't quite reach her eyes, not fully. "We can get a bite to eat after the briefing."

At Jennifer's confused look, the agent elaborated, "I've been temporarily assigned to accompany you while you're here. You're unfamiliar to this agency, and we wouldn't want you to get lost -"

"Stop," Jennifer cut her off with a wave of her and, agitation showing through the set of her lips and amusement through her eyes, "I'm not an idiot, and I hate being lied to, especially when it's a bad one. Tell it to me straight, cause I _know_ you aren't my buddy, or my pal, or anything else other than my watcher." Her smile was bitter as she said, "This isn't my first rodeo, cowgirl. Besides, getting lost? While that's more of a problem than you know, it's a pretty crappy reason, and I expect better of SHIELD."

Romanoff's smile was a little more pronounced this time, her eyes a little brighter. "Fair enough. You're right, I'm you're watcher, but its not what you might think. I'm not here to force you to do anything. My only purpose is to monitor your responses and redirect your interest from classified information."

Jennifer looked a little flabbergasted. "Truth be told, I was expecting something a little less…detailed." She grinned. "So, basically, I get free reign unless you tell me something's a 'no-no?'"

Romanoff rolled her eyes, but without malice. "Basically."

It was quiet for a moment while Jennifer contemplated the agent's openness. Could her frankness have prompted such trust? Jennifer almost couldn't hold back the answering snort. No, definitely not that. Maybe Romanoff felt the information wouldn't impede her orders, because really, to Jennifer, it only made her feel better to know the truth. Who cared if she was being monitored? As long as she was careful, nothing would slip that they didn't already know, and she could maybe learn something significant. Nothing like high-profile missions, or bureaucratic relations, Jennifer could get that from some, ahem, undisclosed (and illegal) sources. No, Jennifer wanted to know how the agency functioned, what the working air was like, who was in charge, where the information chain led.

And Jennifer could get that from some simple conversations, too.

The small buzz that accompanied the electric door opening brought Jennifer out of her own head, focusing on the figure slowly walking out. He had blonde hair and baby-blue eyes, with a strong nose and chin, and his clothes…

_Star-Spangled Banner Boy!_

He was without shield at the moment, but still geared for action. Gone was his mask, and Jennifer noticed how odd it was that, for someone who had just fought a spell-casting psychopath (and defeated him, she presumed, because how else was he alive, then? She didn't think Loki was the type to spare his enemies), he didn't seem to have a scratch on him.

He was followed by another man, one dressed in loose, casual clothing. With curly black hair and drooping glasses, he reminded her of a librarian, as also did his quiet presence. His shoulders were drawn, like he'd been carrying a tremendous weight, and now that it was gone, couldn't seem to fit in his own skin; he didn't know how to operate anymore.

"Captain Rogers, Dr Banner, it's a pleasure to meet you; I'm Agent Romanoff, and this is Ms Harbinger." Romanoff motioned to each, letting Jennifer know who was who. It was a careful gesture, one Jennifer caught with ease; it was meant to include her rather than shun, a deliberate act to ease Jennifer. She almost smiled.

Jennifer startled at the sound of her name, but waved at the two men, regardless. Dr Banner was giving her a curious stare, but seemed to catch himself and smiled in greeting, before letting his gaze flit away. It reminded Jennifer of herself, how she'd take in the room, plan for escape. The Captain, on the other hand, was blatantly gaping at her lounging form, careless of his surroundings. There was no doubt in Jennifer's mind as to the two's standing, at least psychologically; Banner was a stranger, Rogers a member.

She filed that away, too.

"You're already awake?" His completely flabbergasted expression, mixed with the shock in his voice, was too much, and Jennifer couldn't help the string of giggles it elicited. Romanoff seemed aloofly amused, while Banner's mouth lifted into a small smile, though Jennifer could tell he didn't completely understand.

"Yep," Jennifer said, after she could breath, "I'm one-hundred percent, thanks. It'd take a lot to knock me down for good." She gave into the impulse and winked, deciding a more open demeanor than her norm would proffer better options later on.

Rogers seemed both relieved and guilty, which was a rather strange facial mixture. He seemed to have some sort of internal struggle before his eyebrows narrowed, determined.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, for not stopping Loki in time." The honest declaration warmed Jennifer a little, though she pushed it down; so _now_ she understood the guilt, butwas still pretty confused. Seeing her expression, the captain added, "It's a soldiers duty to protect the civilians, no matter what."

With a snort, Jennifer replied, "Captain, I'm not sure if you remember, but I'm no civilian." Drawing the lighter from her sleeve, she twirled it skillfully through nimble fingers, before knocking the lid back and expertly flicking the tumbler. Smirking, she brushed her thumb over the small flame, delighting in the familiar warmth.

Rogers eyed her warily after that, but stood by his earlier words. Jennifer couldn't talk him down, so decided a change in topic, since neither Banner nor Romanoff had deigned to chime in the entire time. Though, after her little lighter trick, Banner took to studying her covertly, eyes intrigued. The red-haired agent remained elusive, to Jennifer's irritation.

"So, does anybody know why we're here? Other than the wacky wizard on a power trip?" Jennifer finally asked, tired of waiting. Her question was met with speculative glances, but before anyone could speak, the doors behind them opened.

"Good question, Sparky. Now, if everyone's listening; that man's playing Galaga!"

And, to Jennifer's utter disbelief, Tony Stark swept through, pointing dramatically into the sea of SHIELD employees with another grandiose statement of, "He thought we wouldn't notice, but we did," before wandering over a glowing display overlooking the room.

Jennifer felt the lighter clamber to the floor, slipping through her shock-numbed fingers.

_What in the bloody world is Tony Stark doing here?!_

* * *

**Alrighty, so I decided I'm going to post author notes down here, so you all can read the story first, and skip my rants easier, if you like. There are some thank-you's and tidbits that you might not want to miss down there, though, just so you know.**

**First, I'd like to thank **karenpark **for letting me know I went overboard, it helped with this chapter. At least, I hope it did, let me know, ok? I kinda got too excited with trying to impress people with fancy language, and while I'm happy most people liked it, I'm thankful you told me it needed to be toned down. Believe you me, I hate those overtly flashy sentences, and I'm embarrassed to have written some of them. Hope the edit to the first chapter helped, though I was too lazy to put actual effort into it. Sorry!**

**I'd also like to give my thanks to **howlingwindofthestorm**, because he/she is the very first to favorite (HUGE thanks to you!), **XxDEATHTHEKIDxX **(whose awesome, by the way, for reading almost everything I've done, and still keeps reading, no matter how awful I get with updating! You rock, Kid!), and **Penguin-Overlord**, for reviewing almost everything I do, because I kinda/sorta/maybe force you to. Love you, penguin master, and please don't send that penguin mafia of yours to kill me, I've got more of this story to finish! **

**And thanks to all the creeper readers, as I like to call them, because even if you don't review, my hit counter goes up, as does my ego. I love you all! (Plus, I'm a Minecraft junkie, and creepers are one anxiety/fun inducing time!)**

**Secondly, I'd like to ask if you readers would like a little snippet from the last chapter to go up first, so you can remember what exactly happened last. Would it help, or only hinder? Because, MAJOR WARNING: I'm the crappiest of the crappy updaters here on ff net, so don't expect daily, weekly, or even monthly updates, because, as I said, I'm awful, horrible, the evilist. I'm just saying this now, so everybody's on the same page; me = atrocious updater. I advise you to get used to it and find other stuff to read in the mean time. I am sorry about this, truly, but it's the way I am. Tried to change it, and that ended up with all of my other stories on HIATUS, and me in a particularly fowl mood for a good two or three months.**

**Well, on that sour note, I bid you aideu (did I spell that right?) and wish you all the best! Feel free to review or PM me with anything you need, be it questions about my story, suggestions, or more MARVEL knowledge, because I'm in desperate need of stuff other than the movies to go off of, lol.**

**Lemme know what you think of my OC, because I tried really hard to allude to her past without giving everything away, and I'd like to know what you thought of it. I'll let her past get introduced slowly, in little tidbits, as was suggested of me by a friend; I also think it'll help the story not be so OC-centric, because while it is an OC story, I want it to be a fun read with all of the Avengers, not just my character's whole history. Please gimme some feedback!**

**Sincerely, and with lots of love,**

**Raven T.**

**PS, Tell me what you thought about the chapter length, I'd like to get a feel for how long you readers want the chapters. There'll be huge gaps between updates regardless, so lemme know! (Though, not THAT huge of gaps if you all want really small chapters, haha.)**


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